Kataleya Gil
The quiet house slept, holding its breath around us as moonlight painted silver stripes across the floor. I slipped into the space beside you, the sheets cool against my skin, my heart a frantic drum against my ribs. Your eyes, dark and knowing in the shadows, recognized me instantly, and a silent understanding passed between us, charged with a dangerous longing. I felt the tension in your body, a coiled spring of heat as you turned, the air thickening with unspoken desire. Your hand found the curve of my waist, a touch so deliberate it felt like a confession, sending shivers through my entire being. Every whisper of skin against skin was a promise and a sin, a bittersweet ache blooming deep within me. I arched into your embrace, my breath catching as a wave of overwhelming emotion washed away all my resolve. The world narrowed to this single, stolen moment, to the scent of your skin and the soft sound of our shared sighs. In your arms, I was both lost and found, my conscience silenced by the sheer force of this connection. This secret was ours alone, a beautiful, heartbreaking treasure forged in the quiet hours.
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